Chapter Text
She hates the smell of cigarettes; it's how she knows he's around. He always shows up on time, the nicotine pacing in his wake, making his way straight through to the back where the kitchen feels like the sixth circle of hell. Every time a blue orb would land on her, she'd shiver. He looked to be cold to the touch, and she could only stomach his presence by holding her breath. Tamannaah had looked him in the eyes once in the past two weeks he had been working at the hotel. It was a Thursday morning and he had come in very early, unusual for Andrew—if that was in fact his name—and couldn't figure out the pass code to get into the basement. She had smiled, trying not to breathe through her nose as she stepped in front of his lanky, skyscraper, ghost of a form. His eyes felt like two large magnifying glasses as he watched her punch the numbers in on the door. He smelled so strongly of Camels, she wanted to turn around and leave, but had to get her lunch to the refrigerator in the staff kitchen.
"Three, seven, one, star," she'd said in her professional, friendly voice, the one she often uses with people she doesn't know or doesn't like. In this case, Tamannaah didn't like Andrew because he reeked of cigarettes. He had thanked her and held the door open as she made her way through the hall. She felt as if an actual ghost were following her, but the shiver had been the result of his surprisingly clear, deep voice, one she would not have expected to hear, considering the multitude of smoke breaks he had to take twenty feet away from the building each day. If Tamannaah had to guess, she'd have said he was at least six feet and four or five inches tall, thoroughly topping her fragile five feet and three inches. In his black chef's uniform, she couldn't tell just how skinny he was; the outfit seemed to give him more width and more of an intimidating presence.
One night that she had to cover for Juliet waitressing, something she generally didn't do when she was serving drinks at the bar, it happened to be the night the AC decided to give out. She never had to go directly into the kitchen, owing to the small window which could open and close with a counter space where orders could be left for waitresses to pick up, but when she managed to reach through the window and burn her hand in a fresh bowl of marinara, it happened to be Andrew preparing to place it on the counter. She had screamed and heard him curse, saw the pale milk-white flesh peeking out from under the sleeve of his black chef uniform, riddled in colourful ink of all kinds. He rushed out of the kitchen in a hairnet to find Tamannaah shaking a burning hand in the air, and immediately grabbed her by the elbow and led her into that hot kitchen. His hands looked like large white spiders as he held her wrist, pressing her palm under the death cold water at the kitchen sink before gently lying it atop a slab of ice from the freezer. He'd told her how sorry he was repeatedly, and for the first time, she realized what a handsome face he had, despite how sallow with the ebbing of a summer tan.
He'd told her she could stay as long as she wanted to soothe the pain; it had been his fault being so careless. The only caveat he gave was to discard the slab of ice when she was finished, because if his boss saw what was happening with that ice, he'd get fired. Tamannaah had seen the master chef fire the cook whose place Andrew had recently taken simply for under heating the soup of the day. Surprised, Tamannaah had stood there and watched Andrew move about the kitchen at lightning speed, filling plates and still managing to give them each very chichi finishing touches. Needless to say, the window got full, and the only other waitress on the floor was gradually becoming overwhelmed. Tamannaah couldn't smell cigarettes in the kitchen with all that was steaming, frying, baking, sautéing. Instead, she began to hate the chef a little bit less for burning her hand and making the hotel smell like cancer.
"Tam…" he'd said, those bright bug eyes landing on her nametag. Tamannaah had been too busy trying not to sweat so much to realize he was actually trying to pronounce her name. He had paused after finishing a batch of steamed broccoli.
"What?" she said over the noise of an oven timer violently signaling that the garlic bread was ready. Another chef retrieved it from the oven and turned to look and see why Andrew had stopped cooking. She looked to be uninterested in Andrew's sudden interest.
"Tam…Anna?" he says, "I thought your name was Anna. That's who Juliet told me would be covering her shift."
Mesmerized by his voice, Tam forgot English and only stared up at Andrew. He tilted his head to the side, the light glaring off his sharp cheekbone. One could have cut diamonds on the man's face. She blinked stupidly, nodded and cleared her throat, rushed the slab of ice towards the sink.
"Yeah. I'm Anna—I mean—that's what they call me here. My name is actually Tamannaah, or Tam. I don't have a preference—just don't call me Annie," she had explained, watching the slab drip uncontrollably into the sink.
"Did you read the notes at the beginning and end of this story?" Andy asked the reader with a smile. The reader paused, laughed, and went to read those notes before Andy continued to say, "I don't think we've formally met. I'm the new assistant chef, Andrew,” he said, pulling the sleeve of his black shirt up higher and extending a hand for her to shake, "Oh, uh…" He stared nervously at her right hand. She wasn't going to try and touch anything while it still stung.
"I'm really fucking sorry about that. It's been a long day and the fucking air conditioner is broken."
She cocked a brow. She generally never heard anyone swear around the bar or kitchen. She'd been told it was unprofessional to do around the customers, but Andy shrugged and seemed not to be at all worried what effect his language might have had on her. She laughs slightly.
"Shit happens," she exhaled. She winced and detached the ice block from her hand. The plates at the window were getting crazy, and Sydney paused to stick her face into the blazing kitchen and make a disappointed expression before she cleared her throat in an obnoxiously loud fashion.
"Sorry," Andrew said again, having looked the part. She nodded and made her way for the door, throwing the ice slab in the trash on her way out.
"Have you heard a word I said?" Juliet asks, sighing and standing in front of the bar on the customer side. She sits on a stool and props her chin atop a closed fist. Tamannaah shakes her head, having been lost in thought.
"Something about a date?" she says innocently.
"Good, you were listening. Andy—that new chef—well, we're going to drink in room four oh seven tonight, once that creepy businessman leaves. He's off for the night…so you will cover my shift?" Juliet looks over the moon about this guy, so Tamannaah decides against telling her that she thinks he's cute, decides against the marinara sauce story, and reminds herself that she'd never want to actually date a smoker, anyway. Before Tamannaah can give a straight answer, Juliet's eye is caught on something behind her. She smiles and waves just as Andy circles the counter with two cartons of frozen apple juice leftover from that morning's continental breakfast and an unopened pack of Camel cigarettes.
"I thought you just quit smoking…"
Tamannaah more or less becomes invisible to Juliet, who follows the tall chef out into the sun. When they come back in, the pair are laughing. They pause a few feet away from the door to the kitchen, and all that Tam can see is Andy's tall frame leaning down over Juliet. He appears to be talking to her. Juliet is all smiles when Andy disappears into the kitchen. Tamannaah distracts herself wiping the counter down. In an hour's time, middle aged men will be swarming in for drinks and eying her like she's a piece of meat. Juliet stops behind the bar and less than discreetly grabs a bottle of half-full peach Schnapps.
"Hey!" Tamannaah says, fighting a smile.
"Shhh." Juliet stares up at her with pleading eyes. Anna rolls her eyes and watches Juliet wrap her waitress apron around the bottle in attempts to hide it.
"You are the best, Anna. I promise I'll make it up to you. I'll cover the next shift you don't feel like coming in for."
"Sure," she says emptily, shaking up a concoction of alcohol. Andrew traipses out of the kitchen, pulling the net off his head, and an elastic from his jet black hair. It tumbles to his shoulders. Tamannaah had not realized how long it was. In two seconds flat, he looked to be more feminine than Juliet. His eyes catch sight of Juliet stealing the liquor and he grins, walking away towards the exit. Juliet makes her way to the stairwell after hugging Tamannaah's leg under the bar. Tam laughs reluctantly. They're clearly trying not to draw attention to themselves, but she can see right through all the bullshit. She knows that Andrew is going to get more alcohol. There's no way that Schnapps was enough for two, because Juliet liked to drink when she drank. The night begins and Tam finds herself making haste from table to table, trying not to get burned again.
When she catches sight of a set of pale arms on the other side of the kitchen window, for a moment she wonders whether they belong to Andy, but when she can't make out any tattoos and realizes that the rest of the chefs on duty are wearing the classic white uniform, he's probably passing out on a sleep number bed in the suite up on the fourth floor, Juliet straddling him and laughing her drunken laugh.